


The only way to leave is via body bag.

by Lacy18



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Crime, Alternative Universe - Mafia, And tons of action and suspense, Character Development, Cheating, Crime, F/F, F/M, Gang Wars, Gangs, Incest, M/M, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, With a little bit of horror, mafia wars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 08:18:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1503422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacy18/pseuds/Lacy18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lannisters, Starks and Baratheons. These three criminal families run the city of Kingsland with barely any opposition. But now a seventeen-year-old boy is running two of the three gangs, and it doesn't help that the boy's a bloody idiot. Jaime, the boy's father/uncle, has lived a life of crime. But when he begins to realize how dark Mafia life truly is, will he escape this brutal and savage underground word- or will he just get sucked further into the vicious cycle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so it begins.

“You have Stark?” Asked Joffrey, as he stepped out of Jaime's Red BMW X3. Though only seventeen, Joffrey was head of the Lannister household, which made him the most powerful criminal in the city of Kingsland. Jaime had no idea what had possessed father to make this so; Joffrey was reckless and hot-blooded, even more so than Jaime himself, and needlessly cruel. But Tywin had been insistent. Cersei had wanted to lead the lannister family after Tywin's passing, and Jaime didn't see why Tywin had objected to the idea; Cersei was as cunning as she was beautiful. Her cunning and wit, as well as her beauty and passionate heart, were what Jaime loved most about his sister. She had encouraged Jaime to lead; but he refused. Jaime enjoyed the trill of driving, of shoot-outs and drug runs; in his mind, the roll of a mafia boss was far too much responsibility and, to be frank, seemed painfully boring.

“Yes” confirmed Roose Bolton, running a hand through his black hair, showing just a few elusive streaks of grey, with a quick, curt nod. “My nephew found him, with a little help from his... pet.”  
Ramsay Snow grinned wickedly. Jaime had always been brave, but the Boltons scared the living shit out of him. Roose, at least, was civil, though those pale, pale eyes unnerved him. Ramsay was an outright psychopath, a sadist. Perhaps that was why he was such good friends with Joffrey.  
“Nice work” smirked Joffrey, patting Ramsay on the back. “Pleasure, boss” Ramsay nodded back, still smiling that wicked, wide grin. “You should've seen the way Greyjoy SCREAMED. At first, he was defiant, but two fingers later, and he was just spilling out everything he knew about the Starks. So much for loyalty” laughed Ramsay. Whilst Joffrey laughed along, Ramsay lit up a cigarette, taking a deep drag and leaning against Roose's car. 

Jaime couldn't help but feel angry at the two of them. Admittedly, killing enemies brought Jaime a great thrill; and, as his sister and father constantly reminded him, torture was sometimes necessary, but he didn't understand what kind of man could enjoy such a thing. “You know, Theon wasn't ACTUALLY a Stark” Jaime muttered to Ramsay. “Just a friend of Robb's. And now you've tortured him, Balon and Asha will probably be up our ass, yet again. They still haven't forgiven father for killing Rodrick and Maron.”  
Roose nodded his agreement. “I try to warn my nephew of his foolishness, but he doesn't listen. Still, he does know how to extract information.” Bolton gave a thin smile; false, like all his smiles. Jaime had known Roose a long time; and never had the man shown any hint of human emotion. Somehow, that unsettled him almost as much as the sickening joy Ramsay took in hurting others.

“Oh, shut up, you bloody killjoy” Joffrey spat to Jaime. If Joffrey wasn't his son, Jaime would have killed Joffrey long ago; but, Cersei loved the boy, and Jaime loved Cersei, therefore, what Cersei loved, Joffrey at least had to pretend to tolerate.  
“Open the trunk. I want to see him.” Roose obligingly opened up the trunk of his black Jaguar, to reveal Eddard Stark. His hands were bound, his legs were bound, and his mouth was gagged. Joffrey ripped the gag from Stark's mouth. “Thought you could get away with killing my father, did you?” Inquired Joffrey. Eddard remained silent. At this, Joffrey lost his patience. “Why did you kill my fucking father?!” he yelled, red-faced with rage. “I... I never killed your father” argued Eddard. Stark was a stoic man; though a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead, he showed no other signs of being scared. “Your father was one of my closest friends” he continued. “Why would I betray him? The Starks, Lannisters and Baratheons have always ran the city in harmony with one another. We operate in the North, and you operate in the south. You kill me now, and you'll tear any peace we have between our gangs apart. You'll start an all-out war.” 

Ned was right; to kill him would be foolish. But Joffrey was a fool, and what Joffrey says goes, unfortunately. “Bullshit!” yelled Joff. “Ramsay, drive him back to your warehouse. I'm going to make this motherfucking northern piece of SHIT BEG ME to kill him!”. Ramsay seemed happy to oblige, until Jaime stepped forward. Jaime might have been a criminal, but he had standards, and he was not about to let a man die horribly a slow, painful death he was not guilty of. If Eddard had to die, Jaime could not save the man, but he could at least make it painless. “That won't be necessary, Nephew” Jaime told his son, before drawing his gun; a .44 Magnum revolver, loaded as always. Before either Joffrey, Eddard or Ramsay could object, Jaime had fired two bullets into Ned's skull. 

Joffrey frowned, looking even angrier than before. “What the fuck was that for?!” he yelled. Jaime smirked at Joff. “Apologies. I suppose I was just feeling trigger-happy” he said with an insolent shrug. Joffrey let out a deep, heavy sigh. “You know, if you weren't my uncle, I'd have given you to Ramsay by now. Bolton. Snow.” he said. “Uncle” he continued, with more than a little scorn. “Get rid of the body.”

About three hours later, Eddard Stark was eight feet under. Jaime turned to Joffrey. “Well, now you've started a fucking mafia war, I might as well start fighting. I'd like to see Greyjoy and have a few words with him.”  
“You can't he' mi-” Ramsay protested, before Roose interjected. “You may speak to Theon. He does have valuable information” Bolton said blandly. “Come. Follow us.”

With that, Joffrey and Jaime got back into the BMW, and Ramsay and Roose got into there own car. Roose drove, and Jaime followed.

===THREE WEEKS AGO===

“Jaime”. His sister purred breathlessly into his ear. The feeling of her lips against his ear, her warm arms wrapped around his chest; it was enough to make his cock begin to swell yet again, and he'd only fucked her five minutes ago. 

“God, I fucking love you” he whispered back, pressing his lips softly against hers. The two of them were tangled together in the sheets of Robert's bed; that fat lecherous cunt had gone out drinking, yet again, which meant he wouldn't be back until the morning. He didn't understand how Robert could turn down Cersei in favour of the whores he usually fucked; it was as though the idiot was turning down gold in favour of piss. Still, he was glad Robert spurned Cersei, or he'd have no time at all with the woman he loved.

“You only tell me that every time we're alone together” chuckled Cersei. “But I like it. You're my other half, Jaime” she smiled softly.  
It was then that Robert Baratheon staggered into the house. Jaime leapt out of bed, tried to hide somewhere, but it was too late. Robert saw everything. 

“You pieces of filth” slurred Robert. “You'd make a cuckold of me? With your own FUCKING BROTHER?!”. At that, Robert drew his gun and began firing at Cersei. Luckily, Robert was really pissed out of his skull; his shots missed by miles, and Jaime quickly grabbed for his revolver and shot Robert three times; once in the shoulder, again in the stomach, and finally in the head. When Robert collapsed to the ground, neither Jaime nor Cersei could find words; instead, Cersei clung to her brother, and Jaime held her. Eventually, he whispered to her. “We'll get away with this. I promise. We'll blame the Greyjoys, or the Martells... Things will be better, now he's gone” promised Jaime. Cersei nodded slowly, before claiming his lips in a nervous, trembling kiss. 

That night, Jaime and Cersei waited by Robert's corpse. It took what seemed like forever, but eventually, Boros Blount looked into the room. His eyes widened in horror. “You... You.. murdered..” he stuttered, before Jaime blew his brains out.

And, the next morning, Jaime and Cersei spread the word; that one of Robert's own bodyguards, Boros, had murdered his own boss, and would have murdered Cersei too, had Jaime not stopped him. The only problem was, Joffrey did not blame the Greyjoys or the Martells. Instead, he blamed the Starks, and no amount of persuasion would stop him sending out the Boltons to bring him Eddard.


	2. The Kraken's revenge.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime comes into contact with Theon, but Theon's not the only Greyjoy around. Joffrey calls a meeting.

When Jaime saw Theon Greyjoy, he felt physically ill. Theon was tied to a chair, and had been stripped down to his boxers. Ramsay's warehouse was large, spacious and dim, with only the flickering lights on the high ceiling saving the room from total darkness. The air stank of piss, sweat and even a hint of semen. Theon's head was hung down, his eyes covered by jet-black hair, seemingly unable to meet the eyes of Joffrey, Ramsay, Roose or Jaime. 

Jaime placed his fingers under the lad's chin, and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. Theon had always been charismatic, cocky and handsome, but Ramsay seemed to have broken him. His face was so bruised and swollen that he looked like something out of a horror movie, and when he opened his mouth to speak, he was missing more than a few teeth. “I told you everything I know” he rasped. As Jaime noticed, Theon's lips curled into a small smile, in spite of the obvious pain he was in. “My sister will fucking kill you. Robb, as well. They'll both be after you.” He spat at Joffrey. 

Jaime winced as Ramsay delivered another hard punch to Theon's jaw. “Was that really necessary?” he snapped, shooting Ramsay a look of disgust.   
Joffrey wiped the spit from his face, before stepping towards Theon. “Listen, you piece of shit” he said, in a soft voice, with just a slight edge. “We're going to bring down the Starks, and unless you want us to fuck your family over as well, I'd recommend you tell us everything you know about Robb. He's in charge now, correct?”  
“Go fuck yourself” growled Theon in response. “Robb's in charge, and he's tougher than you'll ever be, you jumped-up psycho child” laughed the Greyjoy.   
“Take a few more fingers” he commanded Ramsay. “An eye, some more teeth, his cock... Anything that will make the kraken squeal.” 

Ramsay was seemingly overjoyed at the prospect of torturing Theon even more, but Jaime would not allow it. “The Greyjoys have never liked the Starks, but they've never liked us either” he reminded Joffrey. “The best we can hope, now you've started with this mafia war bullshit, is for the Greyjoys to remain neutral. If you torture Theon, you'll drive Balon right into the arms of the Starks, and that's something you don't want. They might not be as powerful, but they're tough fuckers.”  
Joffrey considered for a moment, and for that moment, Jaime was hopeful that the boy might see sense. But, as always, he had placed too much hope in Joffrey. He shook his head. “Ramsay, when you're done with Theon, he's yours for fun. Rape him, beat him, cut him into tiny pieces and eat him... Do whatever you want to him.” Ramsay beamed like a child on Christmas morning. Now Jaime thought about it, Ramsay really was childish. He was about twenty, the same age as Robb Stark and just a little younger than Theon, but his long, shaggy mop of black hair, freckles that dotted his face, and his thin stubble, made him look like some teenage metalhead who took Cannibal corpse lyrics way too seriously.

++++++++++

“And you're sure this is where they brought him?” Asha's uncle asked.   
Asha turned to Victarion. His rapidly greying hair had been shaved down to stubble, covering his massive head. Everything about her uncle was massive; his shoulders, his chest. He towered over every other member of the Greyjoy family; an impressive feat, considering Balon, Theon and Euron were all over six feet, and Asha herself was around 5'9. 

“Yes. I'm sure.” She remembered it clearly; she'd been running a delivery to the Frey's when she saw it. Theon had been with Amerei Frey; knowing both of them, Asha presumed they'd been fucking. Just as he was about to get into his car, two men had gotten out of a black Jaguar, grabbed him and dragged him into the boot. She'd followed the car to this warehouse, and had managed to convince her uncles, along with her boyfriend and partner in crime Qarl, and Black Walder Frey to help her rescue him. Victarion had been easy enough to convince; though he didn't really get on with his Nephew or Niece, he still cared about his family. Qarl thought of Theon as an annoying, arrogant shit, which Asha supposed he was most of the time, but still agreed to help, because he loved her and she had him wrapped around her finger. She loved him back, even if he was sometimes a bit of a fool. Euron had come just for fun, the mad bastard. And Black Walder had agreed, but only after Asha gave him another ten grams of coke on top of the package she'd been delivering to him. 

Euron smiled, his one eye glinting. “Ah, Theon. The foolish boy” her uncle chuckled. “I honestly don't know why we suffer him.”

“If you don't know, why are you here to help him?” snapped Asha.

“Simple, dear niece. Why, there is nothing more thrilling than a good shoot-out.”

Asha didn't know what the fuck was wrong with her uncle, but she was grateful for the company. Black Walder then piped up. “We can spend this time talking, or we can get the fuck in there. I have sales to make, I don't have all night to rescue your fucking brother” he snarled. Qarl looked like he wanted to punch Walder in the throat at that moment, but the look Asha shot him said 'Don't fuck this up', so he forced himself to calm down.

“Right. Vic, let's go.” With that, Victarion barged into the fire escape at the back of the warehouse. One hit from his huge bulk and the door came right off it's rusted hinges. 

As soon as the five of them burst into the warehouse, the shots began. Asha could see four men in the room, and she recognized her brother tied to a chair from the Kraken tattoo on his back. Victarion took aim at a young-looking man, with long, black hair. He hit the man in the side of the chest, and the long-haired man's face paled as he collapsed to the ground. 

Asha aimed for the blonde-haired, green-eyed, skinny teenager. Joffrey, she realized. She shot at him a few times, but he was running away, the fucking coward. Another blonde man, this one older and stronger than Joffrey, shot at Black Walder. He hit the Frey in the neck; Asha responded by directing her fire towards him. The blonde man gave a gasp of pain as a bullet hit his hand, his shooting hand, and he dropped the gun. It was at this point that an older man, with black, back-combed hair and a slight, athletic build made the call. “Get away!” he shouted, sounding surprisingly calm and collected in spite of the tone of his voice. Joffrey and the two men ran for another exit; all three made it out, though Euron did manage to put a bullet through the black-haired man's foot as they made their escape. Asha heard the sound of an engine starting up, and fast driving away. 

“Bastards” sighed Victarion. “Damned cowards.”  
“We have Theon” responded Qarl. “That's what matters. And we've injured two of them.”  
Asha ran to her brother. Even if Theon could be really fucking annoying, she cared about him, even loved him in a strange way. “Asha” croaked her brother. “Fuck.. Asha.”  
She could see her brother was in a lot of pain; he'd lost fingers, teeth, and his face was barely recognizable. “It's okay” she whispered to him. “It's okay. We'll get you home.”  
She cut the rope tying him to the chair, and helped him to his feet. Theon was shaking, a far cry from his normal, confident composure. Asha took off her jacket and gave it to Theon. After her brother wrapped it around himself, he began making his way to the door. “Qarl. Uncles. We need to get Theon home.”

The group left the warehouse, leaving the body of Black Walder Frey and the young man Victarion had shot. Asha knew that they were in too deep; for whatever reason, the Lannisters had started a war against the Greyjoys, a war that would be nearly impossible for the Greyjoys to win.   
++++++++++

“What in the FUCK was that?!”. Joffrey was incandescent with rage; Jaime really wished he'd shut up. Ramsay was dead, he and Roose were both injured; yet Joffrey was the only one making a huge fuss.

“Your pet psycho brought that upon us” growled Jaime. “Why the fuck did you let him catch a Greyjoy? You KNOW what the Greyjoys are like.”

“The Freys will be against us too, now” said Jaime. The Freys were a small gang, lead by old Walder and his sons. They controlled the border between North and South Kingsland, though, which meant they were important. Jaime had shot one of his sons, the one nicknamed 'Black' Walder for his unpredictable temperament. As of now, the Freys operated independently aside from a few connections to the Greyjoys, though in the past they had been known to jump between siding with the Starks and siding with the Lannisters.

“I wouldn't count on it” interjected Roose, in his low, deep, unemotional voice. “Old Walder cares little for his sons, in truth, and 'Black' Walder was little more than an aggressive cocaine addict. All Walder cares about is money and young whores, and we have more of both.”

“Speaking of not caring for sons, you seem rather unperturbed by Ramsay's death. I know he was just a nephew, but you were close; he seemed more a son to you than anything.” Jaime winced as he bandaged his hand with a strip he'd torn from his shirt; he knew he wouldn't be able to use his right hand for weeks. 

Roose seemed relatively unaffected by his injury. He seemed good at hiding even physical pain. “Aye, I did take Ramsay under my wing after my sister's passing. But the boy brought this on himself, as you say. I have connections with the Freys, but it may take a bit of money to get them on our side.”

Joffrey turned to Bolton. “Go and speak to Walder” he commanded. “Once Qyburn or Pycelle have seen to your wounds, of course. Take the dog as a bodyguard; I suppose you can't really defend yourself as a cripple” sneered Joff. If Roose Bolton was offended by Joffrey's comment, he showed no sign other than the corners of his mouth turning downwards ever so slightly. Instead of responding to the jape in kind, he simply said “Of course. I'm sure we can get them on our side.”

===FIVE HOURS LATER===

A meeting was in session at the Baratheon mansion. It was late, but Joffrey had seen it necessary to call the inner circle of the gang together. Jaime's hand still stung, though Qyburn had seen to it that the pain was now at least bearable. 

Joffrey was at the head of the table. Behind him stood Arys Oakheart, one of his bodyguards. Mandon Moore stood at the front of the dining room, guarding the door. Cersei sat on one side of Joffrey, and Petyr Baelish, the one usually tasked with keeping the police at bay, at the other. Jaime sat besides Cersei, and next to him was Tyrion, who acted as the brains of Joffrey's operation in Tywin's absence. Tyrion owned a nightclub, and when it came to money-laundering, accounts, and advising the boy, Jaime's brother was the most skilled. Across the table from him was Varys, who, along with Petyr, helped to spy on the other gangs. At various other positions sat Adam Marbrand, the Red-haired young man who Jaime considered his closest friend other than Tyrion, Gregor Clegane, who, along with the Boltons, was probably the most monstrous among Joffrey's gang, Bronn, Tyrion's friend and bodyguard, and Vargo Hoat, who's band of freaks usually kept order through intimidation. 

“You know why I have called you here today” said Joffrey, trying to sound as serious as a seventeen-year old in a room full of adults could. “Eddard Stark, the man who murdered my father, is dead.” Jaime did not know how Joffrey could be so stupid as to blame Eddard; maybe he was just jealous of their hold on the North of the city, and wanted to bring the North under Lannister control.   
“Make no mistake, the North will fall. We'll make sure of that. We must bring down the Starks for their slight against us. The Greyjoys, too, have seen to go against us; My uncle and Roose Bolton were injured in an attack just this evening, and I regret to say that Ramsay Snow is dead.”

The Greyjoys rose against us BECAUSE of Ramsay Snow, you cretin. And no-one cares about Ramsay, because he was a vicious cunt, Jaime thought to himself.

“May he rest in peace” a few men among the circle chimed, though with little actual remorse. Most agreed that Ramsay Snow was far too reckless for this line of work anyway.

“Gentlemen. This is war. We'll bring down the North, the Iron Coast, and any others who would dare stand in our way.”   
“If I may” piped Varys, in his high, effeminate voice. “Though I agree, the Starks and Greyjoys must pay for this slight, it may be wiser to await your grandfather's return to make such rash decisions.”  
“Tywin would do the same” said Cersei, quick to defend their son. Though Jaime truly loved her, even he had to admit, she was far too willing to defend her son in his foolish endeavours.  
“Maybe you're right” added Jaime. “But he IS more experienced in such matters. Kevan works at the prison, and it shouldn't be long before he manages to get his brother out”.  
The look Cersei shot Jaime then shocked him to the core; it was an angry, cold glare, far from the loving smiles his sister usually gave him. And, for the first time since they were children, Jaime actually felt anger towards his sister; he shouldn't be punished for speaking his mind, after all.

Joffrey, patient as ever, slammed his hand down flat on the table. “Whilst Grandfather is in prison, I make the decisions. There shall be no more arguments. My word is final.” Though most in the room seemed annoyed at Joffrey's insolence, they all held their tongue. 

“Speaking of your grandfather, I seem to have discovered who brought him down” Petyr mused, stroking his goatee thoughtfully. “Detective Inspector Stannis Baratheon. Robert's estranged brother. It seems as though some men simply can't be corrupted.”

“Ith a man canth be corrupthed, he muthd be dethstroyed!” shouted Vargo Hoat. Jaime found Hoat's lisp amusing, but he did well to hide his amusement. Joffrey did not do so well; he was clearly sniggering, though he managed to get himself under control.   
“You are right, Hoat. Send some of your boys to... deal with my uncle.”  
“I thall thend Rorthe and Thagwell after him. Thtannith won'th be around for muth longer” grinned Vargo. Jaime couldn't help but feel sorry for Stannis; Rorge and Shagwell both were completely insane, though they were good at what they did. Rorge was a rapist and a brute, who'd allegedly lost his nose in prison, whilst Shagwell was a meth-headed Juggalo who was scarily strong for his wiry, slight frame.

“Baelish. The Starks don't know of your... affiliation with us, do they? In fact, some of them seem to trust you.”  
“That's correct” smirked Baelish.  
“So go. Join them. Work alongside them, and send whatever you find out about them directly to me.”  
“Of course” said Petyr. 

“Varys. You have spies working at the Iron coast?”  
“My little birds are everywhere” replied Varys, combing his hand through non-existent hair. “You wish me to find out everything I can about the Greyjoys, correct?” he asked.  
“Yes. That's correct” responded Joffrey. 

“Marbrand. Clegane. Uncle” continued Cersei's son. “We need to find out more about the Stark's locations. To do that, I'll need you to bring some of Robb's men to me. Adam.”  
“Yes, boss?” asked Adam, flicking a lock of red hair from his face.   
“You will bring me Jon Umber. Greg, you bring Daryn Hornwood. And Uncle, you go after Jon Snow. He's Ramsay's half-brother, and Robb's cousin. I'm trusting you to bring me the most important of the three. Do NOT fuck this up.”

Adam and Gregor agreed to their tasks, but Jaime frowned. “Jon Snow's not involved in the mafia. He's an innocent in all this.”  
“So what?” asked Joffrey, chewing his lip. “From what Ramsay told me, Jon's very close to Robb. In fact, Jon considers Robb a brother more than he did his actual brother. He's not involved in the mafia, maybe, but he'll know where Robb is, no doubt.”  
Jaime felt disgusted. He saw no need to subject a sixteen-year-old boy to horrific torture when he wasn't even involved in his brother's crimes. “I won't do it” snapped Jaime.  
Joffrey leaned forward. “In that case, you'll have to leave. And you know what's said about the Kingsland Maffia? The only way to leave is via bodybag. Isn't that right, Arys?”

Arys Oakheart drew his gun, and pointed it towards Jaime.   
With a heavy heart, Jaime sighed. “Fine. I'll go after the fucking Snow boy.”  
Arys slid his pistol back into the holster. “Excellent. Varys has all the information you need on the three of them” laughed Joffrey.   
Jaime sighed. He knew he wasn't a saint, but he had no idea how someone like Joffrey could've come from his sperm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! This is a lot longer than the first, and hopefully adds a little more complexity to the characters. More to come soon! :) Again, all feedback is appreciated!


	3. Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime goes after his target, albeit with reluctance. The Greyjoys and Starks, meanwhile, make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little bit of romance, in this chapter (Just because it's such a dark fic, and I figured I could use a little break in the darkness, as could everyone else reading). Brienne should be in the next chapter, or the chapter after that (No matter what, that is still the main ship of this story!)

“A shot of whiskey, brother?” asked Tyrion. It was only 10 in the morning, but Jaime was inclined to accept, considering the way he felt. He was going to wait outside a high school for a sixteen-year-old boy, follow him until he was alone, then beat him up and force him into a car. He felt like some sort of pathetic high school bully, but he knew he was worse than that. He was a man in his mid thirties, not a mean teenager, and he knew his actions would probably result in the boy getting killed.

The fact that he'd been arguing with Cersei all night didn't help, either. 'How could you shame my son like that? OUR son like that?' she'd been asking repeatedly, and Jaime had to restrain himself from yelling 'Because he's a total prick' in response. 

“Bit early for drinking, isn't it?” he asked Tyrion, raising one eyebrow. He knew his little brother was an alcoholic, but at the same time, he understood why. Father and Cersei, and everyone in the gang save for himself, Bronn, and Podrick had been giving him shit his whole life, simply for his dwarfism. But Jaime saw more than just a dwarf. Tyrion had done more for the gang than Joffrey, Cersei or even himself since their father's arrest.

“It's never too early, in my book.” responded Tyrion. “Besides, it'll kill some of that guilt you've been feeling. I know when you're guilty, because you don't sleep, and I know when you haven't been sleeping because you look like shit” he smirked.

“I think I will have that whiskey, now I think about it” said Jaime simply. He pounded back a shot along with Tyrion, and though the whiskey tasted good, it did little to quell his guilt.

“Better?” asked the dwarf, raising an eyebrow.  
“Not really” responded Jaime. Before Tyrion could pour him another shot, Jaime stopped him. “I can't get drunk. Not now. When I'm back, I'll be in the mood for more.”

“Of course” smiled Tyrion. “There is one thing though, before you go. You only have one working hand.”  
“What of it?” asked Jaime. “Jon's sixteen, he shouldn't be too much trouble.”  
“Still, one hand is not ideal for... this line of work. And if you fail, the boy will run right to his cousin and cause us a huge amount of trouble. That's why I want you to take Bronn.”  
“You need Bronn” argued Jaime. “If anyone connected to the Starks or Greyjoys sees you around, they'll..”. But Tyrion was insistent as he cut Jaime off.  
“Oh, please. I can take care of myself, I'm a grown man, even if I don't look it” laughed Tyrion. “You're taking Bronn. No argument.” If Tyrion had one thing in common with Joffrey or Cersei, it was his stubbornness. He supposed all the Lannisters were the same.   
“Very well. Thank you.”

===TWO HOURS LATER===

“We ready to go then?” asked Bronn, as he slid his pistol into the holster.   
“Yes. We're ready” responded Jaime coldly.  
“Beating up a sixteen-year-old” laughed Bronn. “I haven't done that since... Well, since I was sixteen, as a matter of fact.”  
“Don't make me feel worse about it” Jaime sighed. 

As Bronn and Jaime passed Qyburn's room, he heard a voice. “Lannister.” That was a voice he recognized; the voice, in fact, of a dead man.  
Jaime walked into Qyburn's room, and there lay Ramsay Snow. He was even paler than usual, and there was a mass of blood-stained bandage on the side of his body, but Jaime could tell by the smile on his face that he was still alive.

“You made it, then?” asked Jaime simply.  
“Takes more than a bullet to kill me” croaked Ramsay. “Great to see you again” Snow said mockingly. He propped himself up on his elbows. “I had to walk ten miles with a fucking BULLET in my side” he growled. “It was fucking FREEZING, and I had to use my shirt to make a bandage.”  
“You left me. You left me to die” he shouted. 

“Joffrey left too. And your dear uncle” responded Jaime. “Are you going to blame them, too? There were four people shooting at us after I shot the Frey, and after Joffrey ran, just me and Roose left standing. Did you really expect us to kill all four?”

“No, no. But you could've come back for me. Except, you wouldn't have, because you wanted me dead, did you not?”  
Jaime made no effort to deny it. “Don't worry” Ramsay smiled maliciously. “The feeling's mutual. And what's that thing you Lannisters say, about paying debts? Well, I pay them too. Go now. I hear you're after my brother. Best of luck” he smirked.  
“I look forward to seeing Jon again” called Ramsay as Jaime left the room. “I'll give him extra-special treatment, just for you” he chuckled.

===FOUR HOURS LATER===

Bronn lit up yet another cigarette. Did Tyrion's pet really have to chain-smoke so much? The whole car was full of second-hand smoke, but honestly, it was calming Jaime's nerves just a little, so he didn't tell Bronn to stop. 

Discreetly, they'd been following Jon for half an hour now, and he looked to be alone. He'd walked with some red-headed girl for about 10 minutes, before kissing her on the cheek and waving goodbye to her. Now he was walking through a shady neighbourhood, and Jaime knew no-one here would help the poor lad. Jon looked miserable already; and Jaime could understand why. Since he'd started live with his uncle, Ned Stark had presumably become like a father to him. No doubt he knew now of yesterday's events.

Jaime parked the car besides Jon, and got out. Bronn got out too, and walked around the vehicle to lean against the bonnet. He dropped the butt of his smoke on the ground, and stamped it out with his foot. “Can I help you two?” asked Jon. He was clearly nervous, as any sixteen year old boy would be if two strange men randomly approached them.

“No” Jaime responded, shaking his head sadly. “But you can help yourself, by getting in the back of the car.”

“Get in the- oh shit.” Jon's face dropped in that moment, as he realized what this was. And in that moment, Jaime cursed Tyrion. He knew his brother had good intentions in mind when he gave him Bronn, but Bronn's presence meant something worse; that Jaime HAD to go through with the plan. Had Jaime been alone, he was sure he would have let the boy run, but with company here, he had no choice.

Jon turned to run away, but Bronn was too fast for him. He tackled Snow to the ground, and Jaime heard Jon yelp in pain as Tyrion's pet drove his fists into the boy's stomach twice. “Enough, Bronn” said Jaime. “Sorry we had to resort to violence” he told Jon, as he opened up the boot of the car. “Drag him into the alleyway” he ordered, as he took a length of rope and his handgun from the boot. Bronn complied, and held the boy in place behind a dumpster, as Jaime made his way for the alley. “Tie his hands and gag him” he said, throwing the rope towards Bronn. Jaime drew his gun with his left hand, and pointed it towards the young man. 

The gun felt awkward in his left hand, and the situation was exacerbated by the fact that he was shaking. Why was he shaking so much? He'd done this several times before, to men far more dangerous than Snow. 

He was shaking BECAUSE Snow was the least dangerous target he'd ever gone after, Jaime realized. It was guilt, not nerves, that shook him up. Jon Snow's eyes were grey, like his brother's, but where Ramsay's eyes were cold and merciless, Jon's eyes were wide and fearful. Jaime couldn't quiet bring himself to look the boy in the eyes, for fear that Jon might see the weakness in his own. 

“Try to run away, or scream, and I'll shoot” Jaime warned Jon. He hoped Jon would not be able to read his poker face and see his bluff; because, as much as he hated to admit it, he KNEW he wouldn't be able to shoot Jon if it came down to it. Luckily, Jon seemingly took Jaime's threat seriously, and did not say a word or try to get away as Bronn bound his hands behind his back. 

After loading Jon in the boot and starting the drive back to the Bolton's warehouse of torture, Jaime and Bronn were wordless. On the drive there, Bronn was making witty or insulting remarks the whole way, but now Bronn was silent. Perhaps he saw Jaime's guilt. Or maybe he himself was feeling the same way. Jaime did not know. What he did know was, as soon as he got home, he'd really NEED that shot of whiskey Tyrion had promised him.

++++++++++

It was eleven in the evening when Robb heard a knock on his front door. “I'll answer the door, shall I?” asked Vayon Poole, the Stark's personal butler. “No” responded Robb. “Thank you, but... I'll answer myself.” Robb had never been a religious man, but he'd been praying. Praying for his cousin, and for Theon. He loved both of them; Jon was more like a brother to him than a cousin, and Theon was his closest friend, the one he shared all his personal secrets with, in spite of their family's differences. 

When Robb opened the door, he was disappointed to see Asha Greyjoy. He held nothing against her personally, but as families, the Starks and Greyjoys had never gotten along, with the exception of himself and Theon. “Asha” he nodded. “You wish to see me? Why?”. Robb didn't mean to sound so rude, but in the last couple of days, his father had been murdered, his best friend had gone missing, and now his cousin, too, had disappeared; he was meant to have come home from school five hours ago. 

“Not me, in particular. But Theon. My uncle, too.” Robb breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Theon come up behind his sister, but his breath quickly hitched in his throat when he saw the state of his best friend. “Theon!” he said quickly, pulling him into a hug. It looked unprofessional, of course, but Robb didn't care. Theon was his best friend, after all, and he'd been panicking like hell about him since yesterday. Theon clung back to Robb as though Robb was a source of life for him. Robb could tell from Theon's eyes that he'd been crying; this shocked and angered him, as Theon NEVER cried. 

“What the fuck happened to you?!” Robb inquired, looking towards his friend.   
“That's what we want to talk about.” A large man, whom Robb recognized as Victarion Greyjoy, spoke up. “If I may, we'd like to come in.”  
Robb wasn't in the mood for half the Greyjoy family in his living room, but he simply said “Come in”. Theon looked too broken for Robb, in good conscience, to turn away at this hour. 

In the living room, Robb sat on the large armchair that had been there since his great-grandfather's time as the owner of Wolf house. His father had always sat at that armchair, and now his father was dead, he supposed it was his spot. Theon and Asha sat besides one another on a couch, and Victarion seated himself at another armchair, almost directly opposite of Robb. 

Asha was first to speak. “The Greyjoys and Starks have never gotten along, I know that. The Iron coast doesn't like the North, and the North doesn't like the Iron coast. But we don't come as enemies. We come because we have a common enemy, now.”

“The Lannisters” growled Robb, as his left hand clutched into a fist. Those bastards, they were the ones who had done this to Robb's closest friend. He wanted to hurt them all. For what they'd done to Theon. To what they'd done to father. Robb felt sick as he realized how likely it was that he'd soon be finding out what they'd done to Jon, too. He wanted to cry for his brother, his father, but he didn't. Robb was a man, and men don't cry; at least, not in company. Robb did cry, like any other man; when he was alone. He'd seen his father cry, too, though only once, after his sister's passing. He presumed his father had cried when Brandon, his older brother, died as well, though he hadn't seen him.

“Yes. The Lannisters. They captured Theon. Two of Joff's pets, Roose Bolton, and someone called Ramsay Snow, Theon said.” murmured Asha, appearing to be just as angry about it all as Robb.  
Theon nodded, and it looked as though he was about to be sick. Whatever they'd done to him, it had really traumatised the man.   
“Ramsay Snow. Jon's half-brother” said Robb.   
“Ramsay... Ramsay's the one who... who...” Theon trailed off.   
“Raped him. Beat him. Cut off two fingers on his left hand, ripped five of his teeth out!” yelled Victarion, slamming his fist down on the coffee table. The impact of Greyjoy's fist against the table cracked the wood. Victarion seemed a little embarrassed, though Robb did not blame him for his fury. Theon was making no effort to stop himself crying now.

“Ramsay was related to Jon?” asked Theon, in a cracking voice.  
“Was?” inquired Robb, raising an eyebrow.  
“Vic shot him” explained Asha, glancing to her uncle. “While we were rescuing Theon.”  
“I wish I'd done more than just shoot him” snapped Victarion. “The sick little bastard.”  
“Ah, I see. We're all better off without him, no doubt” said Robb. “Ramsay Snow is the son of Roose Bolton's brother, Damon Bolton” he explained. “Or WAS the son, anyway. Damon raped my aunt, Lyanna, but she could never bring herself to terminate the pregnancy. A couple of years later, Lyanna married a man called Rhaegar Snow. She gave birth to Jon then, but she died during childbirth. Rhaegar was devastated, and killed himself six months later. That's when we took in Jon, whilst Roose took in Ramsay.”  
It made Robb feel at least a little better, knowing Jon COULD NOT be in the hands of his brother. Roose was a monster, like most of Joffrey's gang, but at the least, he wasn't anywhere near as awful as Ramsay.

Robb turned to Theon. “You can stay here for the night, of course.” Theon mumbled his thanks, and Robb knew he'd be spending the rest of the night awake, comforting him. It wasn't like he was going to be sleeping that night anyway, what with Jon missing.  
He diverted his attention to the rest of the Greyjoys. “You're right. We DO have a common enemy. We might not be the best of friends, but if we keep up this hostility between our families, neither of us have a chance against the Lannisters. Together, we just might do. Tell Balon that we accept whatever offer of assistance he has for us. Tell him we fight the Lannisters as equals.”

Asha gave a nod. “I'm glad we could come to an agreement. Theon, would you prefer to stay here?” she asked. Theon let out a small sound, that sounded like something along the lines of 'Yes'.   
Asha gave her brother one last hug, before moving to shake hands with Robb. She left with Victarion following, who gave Robb a quick, kurt nod as he left. Once he was sure everyone was out the room, he approached Theon and wrapped his arms around the other boy's waist. 

Theon responded by leaning into Robb's body, and they stayed like that, for a while. Robb knew others would mock them if they saw them like this, but he didn't care. Theon was shaking, but he seemed far more comfortable in Robb's arms. It wasn't really a romantic thing they did; Theon had been with guys before, but that wasn't surprising, considering his appetites. 

In fact, Theon would usually semi-jokingly try to tease Robb, and make advances on him, which Robb secretly found a little too enjoyable, but whatever Ramsay had done to Theon had seemingly killed his appetite for flirtation.

It was, then, a massive surprise when Theon whispered “I love you” into Robb's ear. They said things like that to each other all the time, admittedly, but never whilst sober. He'd always thought Theon just meant it in a friendly way, though Robb did mean a little more when he said it.

“I love you too” smiled Robb. Again, he just meant it in a friendly way, but when Theon actually smiled at him, smiled in spite of his missing fingers and teeth, in spite of his bruises and emotional trauma, Robb's heart skipped a beat. He'd never thought about his friend in this way before, but then again, he could not forget how worried about Theon he'd been, and the fact that, even in this dark time in both of their lives, Theon could still make him smile and he could make Theon smile, surely meant they were more than just best friends. 

It was, therefore, not so much of a surprise when he felt Theon's cracked, swollen lips against his, and Robb was not at all surprised to find himself kissing back, and enjoying it.   
It was, however, a surprise to hear a knock on the door, and an annoying surprise at that. Robb sighed, before kissing Theon on the cheek. “I'm sorry. I have to get this.”

He stood up and headed for the door. When he opened the door, he saw Petyr Baelish, his mother's old friend.   
“Petyr. What do you want?” asked Robb, raising an eyebrow.   
“I heard you might be having some... troubles with the Lannisters” smirked Baelish. “And I think I have the solution. Might I come in?” he asked.  
Robb reluctantly let him in. He supposed he had all night for romantic moments with his best friend, after all.


	4. The straw that breaks the Camel's back.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is at the end of his tether. Joffrey loses his dog. Meanwhile, Brienne's life just took a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather dark towards the end, so I'm just warning you, if you have a weak stomach, you might want to avoid this chapter. There's also a bit of smut (I'm not that experienced at smut, so I HOPE it doesn't come across as too awkward!)

“Fuck you. I am NOT chasing down little girls!” was the loud, aggressive shout Jaime awoke to.   
Jaime's head was killing him; considering Cersei was still refusing to speak to him, let alone spend the night with him, he'd spent the night drinking with Tyrion and Bronn. He'd evidently fallen asleep on the couch at some point, as he was still fully clothed.   
He saw that Bronn and Tyrion, too, had passed out in the same room; Bronn was strewn out across the floor, and Tyrion was on an armchair. 

“You'll do as Joffrey tells you to do, you little shit” was the next growl Jaime heard. He could recognize this voice; that was the voice of Gregor Clegane.   
Jaime wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he realized he'd have to see what was going on in the adjoining room eventually, so he begrudgingly climbed off the couch, and slowly made his way through to the dining room. 

There, he saw Joffrey at the head of the table. On either side of him were the two Cleganes, Sandor and Gregor. All three of them looked furious, though Joffrey most of all.  
“Do you three mind keeping it down?” snapped Jaime. “It's eight in the morning” he murmured, clutching at his head. “What are the three of you raging about, anyway?” he enquired.

The burned, scarred side of Sandor's face twitched with anger. “Daryn Hornwood revealed where Stark's sister's are. Apparently, they're at a boarding school, and our 'boss' here wants me to wait outside the school like some sort of fucking pervert and abduct the two of them. One's SIXTEEN. The other's FOURTEEN. I might be a nasty piece of work, but there is no fucking way in hell that I am lowering myself to THAT.”

Joffrey was fuming. “If you refuse, you're dead, you know that!” yelled Joff.   
“You're welcome to fucking try. But now, I'm leaving, and if I hear any more words pouring out of your cunt mouth, I'll turn right around and snap your fucking neck.” With that, Sandor got up and stormed out of the room. Meryn Trant appeared in the doorway at that moment. “Is everything al-” Sandor punched Meryn hard in the jaw, knocking him backwards. “Don't let him leave! Kill him!” yelled Joffrey, but Meryn was too busy cradling his apparently broken jaw and yelping in pain. Jaime heard a motorbike engine going off, then the vehicle disappearing down the road. 

Joffrey was spitefully muttering to himself. Gregor frowned. “So you want me to go after the girls?” he snarled.   
“Yes. But not today. Prepare yourself today, and leave tomorrow.”  
The giant nodded before briskly leaving the room, shooting Jaime a furious glance on the way.

Jaime's face was twisted with disgust when Joffrey looked up at him. “Something the matter, uncle?” asked Joffrey in his usual, petulant way. Jaime sat besides his son, and glared coldly into his eyes.   
“Yes, boss. A lot of things are the matter. Firstly, I have a splitting headache, and your mewling and screeching is NOT helping. Secondly, you're chasing after young girls. Why? Have the young girls done anything to you?” he questioned. “But, I think the thing that's troubling me the most is that you sent Gregor Clegane, who we all know is a monster, after the afformentioned young girls. How many people has Gregor raped and murdered in the past?”

Joffrey sighed. “You know, your fucking principles are REALLY pissing me off. If you don't want Gregor going after the Stark bitches, YOU can go after them.”  
“I don't want ANYONE going after the Stark girls. They're teenagers. They haven't hurt anyone. I'm willing to do a lot of fucked up things for you, but this really is a step to far.”  
Joffrey chewed his lip. “We won't speak of this again” he muttered. “Gregor will bring them to me, and you can keep your damned morals to yourself.” There was a cold, dangerous edge to Joffrey's voice, and Jaime yet again knew that his life was at stake should he continue pressing the matter. So, he held his tongue. That was when Tyrion walked in.   
“I have something to show you” smirked Joffrey, glancing at Jaime and then Tyrion.  
“Can't it wait?” inquired the dwarf. “I have an awful headache, and I'm trying to recover from the aftermath of your yelling match. What was that about, anyway?”

Jaime turned to his little brother. “Apparently we're into abducting little girls now. Stark's sisters. Joffrey sent his dog after them, but he refused, and now Gregor's after them”.  
Tyrion said nothing, he simply frowned. Then, he walked around the table to Joffrey's left side. He pulled out a chair, and stood on top of it.   
Without warning, Tyrion raised his hand, and backhanded his nephew across the face. Joffrey let out a yelp as his head snapped to the side; Tyrion was surprisingly strong, considering his stunted stature.   
Jaime failed to suppress a small laugh at the spectacle. 

It was at that moment that Jaime noticed Cersei standing in the doorway. “Great, exactly what we need” sighed Jaime. “A Lannister family gathering” he groaned. Cersei remained silent as she walked towards Joffrey, then she turned to Tyrion.

She gave Tyrion a cold glare, the kind of glare that made absolutely everyone in the room extremely uncomfortable. “Did you just hit my son?” she asked, in a soft voice with an unmistakable edge.   
“He deserved it” retorted Tyrion. “You should teach your vile little shit of a son a lesson in manners. Not even father chased after fourteen-year-olds” he growled, before hopping down off his chair and wordlessly leaving the room.

Jaime remained in the room for what felt like forever. The atmosphere was painfully awkward. “Sister. Nephew.” he said quickly, before he, too, left the room and it's awkward silence. He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed himself a large glass of water before heading to his own room. He downed the water, which helped his headache at least a little.

Then he fell back to sleep. He wasn't sure for how long, but he awoke to Cersei's gentle whisper. “Jaime” he heard her purring into his ear. His eyes opened up, and she softly pressed her lips against his. “Why the change of heart?” he smiled softly at her.   
“I couldn't stay angry at you” she sighed. “Hard as it is to admit, I love you, even if you can be an idiot” she laughed.   
Jaime ignored the veiled insult, because it didn't matter. She'd told him she loved him, and he loved her back, no matter what. 

He combed a hand through her hair, that lovely golden hair, claiming her lips harder, before kissing his way down her jawline. He kissed, licked and sucked the skin around her neck, before unbuttoning her shirt. She let out a soft moan, and that sound was the most satisfying thing he could ever imagine hearing.   
He knew they were brother and sister, he knew how fucked they'd be if anyone found out, but he didn't give a damn. This was how it was meant to be, him and her, they'd come into the world together, they were meant to be together. 

He opened up her shirt and began making his way down her chest. He was painfully hard by now, but he knew it best to wait; after all, the wait was what made his release most satisfying, and he wanted to please his sister, to make love to her, not just fuck her.

He kissed his way to her bra, before unhooking it and throwing it carelessly off the bed. Her breasts were exposed to him then, and he kissed each of them, before rolling her left nipple between his finger and thumb, then between his lips. He sucked softly, urged on by her moans and whimpers of his name. 

Jaime tore his own shirt off, and he continued to kiss his way down her chest, as his good hand made it's way into her pants. He found that she was already wet between the legs, so with a finger, he rubbed softly, feeling her tremble and moan.   
“Jaime, please, please” she begged, and he could handle the wait no longer. Her voice, her face, her skin, calling for him, begging for him, and he was begging for her too. With an animalistic sort of urgency, he tore his jeans and boxers off, then made to remove her own trousers and panties. 

She spread her legs slightly for him, and Jaime admired her whole body, every last part of her, before thrusting his way inside her. He felt the tightness of her womanhood around him, as he gave gentle thrusts, as Cersei raked her nails down his back, begging for more. He lay a hand on her hip, her hips which she began rolling in response to his thrusts. He buried his face into her neck and licked and sucked at the skin, before pressing at her lips with his tongue. She moaned his name into his lips, and he responded by moaning her name.

The two of them came together; Jaime felt her tightening and constricting around him, and shortly after, he felt his own release, roaring through the both of them. He collapsed besides her, smiling a little. 

The two lay like that for some time, before Cersei spoke to him. “Jaime- I'm worried. For our son” she confessed.  
That surprised him. Could it be that she'd realized the kind of person Joffrey truly was? Jaime hoped so, but somehow it felt like that would be too good to be true.

“What do you mean?” he inquired, pressing his lips up against her forehead.   
“Tyrion” she sighed. “You wouldn't believe what he was like this morning. After you left, I went to talk with him, and he was furious. He wanted to murder Joffrey, I could see it in his eyes.”  
Jaime stared at her incredulously. “Of course Tyrion was angry. He has some principles, and any principled person WOULD be disgusted by the idea of hunting down young, innocent girls. That doesn't mean he's going to MURDER Joffrey. Don't tell me you SUPPORT him in this fiasco” he frowned.

It was at that moment that he felt her slapping him across the face, but the slap hurt far less than the realization; the realization that she did not love him. She just wanted to manipulate him, to turn him against his brother.   
“You DO support him, don't you?”   
Cersei answered him with another slap, before climbing out of bed. She was furiously changing into her clothes. “I can't believe you. You're putting that little FREAK before me, before our son. How could you?!”  
Jaime did not answer, he just watched as his sister, the one woman he'd ever loved, stormed towards the door. He felt sick. Physically sick. “I was going to ask you to take care of the little monster, but I suppose now I'll have to find someone else” snapped Cersei, before she left the room.

Take care of? What the fuck did she mean by that?

Then Jaime realized what the fuck she meant by that. And he knew that was the last straw. He would NOT stand by and let his little brother be murdered. He would not stand by and let innocent teenagers be captured, tortured or raped. This was breaking point for him.

++++++++++  
“That was an excellent day of work, Brienne” said Stannis, and Brienne couldn't help but feel a little flush of pride. Stannis was not smiling as he complemented her, but then again, detective inspector Stannis Baratheon never smiled. In fact, to receive a complement from him was an impressive moment, considering her boss's general lack of expression.

“Thank you, Detective Inspector” responded Brienne curtly.   
“Just a few more months and I reckon we'll bring down these maffia bosses. And the chief said it could never be done” said Stannis proudly.  
Brienne had to smile at that; she was only an intern at the Kingsland south police station, but even she'd seen examples of the corruption that seeped into the system. Only Stannis had managed to get rid of some of the corruption, and make any progress on bringing down the maffia; and she, a nineteen-year-old girl with no friends or family left, a girl who'd been bullied her whole life, had helped him. So why shouldn't she be proud of herself? Such moments were rare in her life, anyway.

A rusty little car parked up besides her and Stannis, and out stepped two rather strange men. One was short, but bulky, with large muscles and a bald head. His most striking feature was the lack of a nose on his otherwise pig-like face.  
The other was a scrawny young man, who, for one reason or another, was wearing black and white clown make up. He was twitching, and evidentially high on some substance or another.

“What do you two want?” asked Stannis, frowning deeply. Brienne, though she made a good effort to hide it, was scared of these two strange men. As it turned out, she had a reason to be, as the noseless man drew a small handgun and pointed it at Stannis. Before anyone could protest, he'd pulled the trigger. Brienne screamed as Stannis fell. Then she felt the scrawny clown pin her against a lamppost. 

She drove her knee into the clown's stomach, and punched him in the face. The benefit of being 6'3 was that it did make her very good at fighting. “I'll fucking get you for that, bitch” snarled the clown, as he went to approach her. Then she felt cold steel pressed up against the back of her head. Noseless. “Don't. Fucking. MOVE” he snarled. The clown laughed and seemed to dance around. “You're ours now! I'm gonna FUCK you so hard...”  
Noseless grunted. “Shut up. We'll fuck her later. Vargo always gets first go, though. Vargo or Ram” he snorted.  
Brienne's face paled in horror as she realized the implication. As the two freaks pulled her into the car and started the engine, she violently threw up everywhere. “Shut the fuck up, bitch” snarled the clown. “You're fucking ugly, anyway, so we're probably doing you a favour anyway” he laughed, and noseless snorted with laughter alongside him.

After clown had finished binding her wrists, the two men began to drive her off to god-knows-where. Brienne threw up. Again. “Each time you throw up in my fucking car, I'll break one of your fucking ribs” grunted Noseless. “Shagwell, some music. And NOT any of your ICP bullshit” was the last thing Brienne heard before fear, or SOMETHING, made her pass out in the backseat of the noseless man's rusty Ford Fiesta.


	5. A tale of brotherly love part one.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Tyrion have a conversation. Jaime's situation takes a turn for the worse, as does Tyrion's. And Brienne meets her fellow victim of the Boltons/Lannisters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am extremely sorry for the delay in my posts, I had a busy few weeks! Next chapter should be ready soon!

“Tyrion! You HAVE to leave, now!”  
Jaime was finding it difficult to convince his little brother to run. He, Tyrion and Bronn were at Tyrion's nightclub. It was around one in the morning, but the nightclub was packed out still. They were in the back room, and Jaime was confident no-one could hear what they were saying. Jaime could hardly hear himself think, what with the loud, repetitive music outside. 

“Listen here, brother” sighed Tyrion. “I KNOW Cersei wants me dead. I've known it for years. I'm sure she's even tried to kill me a couple of times in the past, but I'm still here. I can protect myself. And if I can't, well, Bronn will”.

Jaime frowned. “Bronn... Isn't the most trustworthy of men, you know that?” he asked.   
He then remembered that Bronn was in the same room. “No offence, Bronn.”  
Bronn shrugged. “None taken. Tyrion, your brother's a right twat, but he's right” he smirked. He turned to Jaime and raised an eyebrow. “No offence, Jaime.”

“Fine” he sighed deeply. “Where would you have me go where I would be safe?” he inquired, almost sarcastically.  
“I own an apartment in Lannisport” Jaime said. He fished in his pockets and threw a key at Tyrion. “Go to Lannisport. Lion towers, apartment 62. It's not the nicest place, but it's safe.”

Tyrion contemplated Jaime's suggestion for a brief few moments. This was good, very good. “I'll come with you” promised Bronn. “After all, who else are you going to get drunk with if you have to leave?” he chuckled.   
“Okay. Alright, damn it, I'll go. Have Podrick look after the club whilst I'm gone” he sighed bitterly, before getting to his feet and pouring himself a shot of whiskey. “Thank you. I suppose”.

Jaime looked at his brother with sad eyes. “I'm sorry, Tyrion. I really am.” He'd miss his little brother, the one who was always willing to have a decent conversation, who always had a witty joke at the ready, who never judged him for the crimes he committed, but this was the safest course of action. He got to one knee and embraced Tyrion in a tight, brotherly embrace. “I'll miss you.”

++++++++++

It was three in the morning when Tyrion and Bronn left the nightclub. “Well. To Lannisport and beyond” Tyrion smiled sadly, as they made their way to Bronn's car.  
“We'll have a whale of a time!” said Bronn, trying his best to sound enthusiastic. “Lannisport girls are the best for a good fuck, after all” he grinned.  
“True. Very true” chuckled Tyrion. At least he'd have Bronn by his side. It was a regular early morning outside his nightclub; he'd miss the club, a lot. 'The home of tits and whiskey', people called it jokingly, and considering how many lovely young women were regular visitors, in addition to the fine selection of spirits they served, it seemed an apt nickname. 

“Oh, I don't think you'll be going to Lannisport anytime soon, halfman” a gruff voice said from behind him. The accent was one from North Kingsland. “Fuck” he muttered, simultaneously with Bronn, as the two turned around. There stood a great, broad-shouldered, bearded man, who looked like what Tyrion would imagine a cross between Gregor Clegane and Santa Claus to look like.   
Bronn made to draw his gun, but the huge man's fist crunched into his jaw, knocking him out cold. Another two men, also large and gruff-looking, came up behind the huge man. Tyrion grinned awkwardly.   
“Well, that was a little unnecessary! Care to come for a drink? I assure you, let me and my friend go, and you'll have a lifetime VIP pass at my club! Sound good?”. Tyrion knew it wouldn't work, but if he was going to die, he might as well make his killers laugh.

The three big northern men laughed. “Fuck your club” said the leader. With a backhand across the face, Tyrion's last memory was of hitting the pavement before he was knocked out cold.

++++++++++

“What do you MEAN, you don't know!” Cersei was yelling. “You let the little BEAST run away? Didn't you! Didn't you!”.  
Jaime shrugged. “I didn't let any beasts run away, Cersei. If you mean Tyrion, well, he's no beast, but he is safe. Safe from YOU.”  
It was six in the morning, and they were in the kitchen; Jaime was exceedingly tired, so, through Cersei's yelling, he poured himself a coffee and took a long sip. He had a feeling it would be a while yet before he got any sleep. 

But Cersei did not yell. She gave him a cold, hard glare. The same glare she gave Tyrion the day before. The glare that she gave which basically said 'I am going to have you killed in your sleep'; she'd given that glare to several people in the past, and those several people had all died fairly soon after, apart from Tyrion. 

Jaime was not lost to the meaning. Cersei believed that HE was a part of this alleged conspiracy against her beloved little monster, their son. And he knew HE would have to keep himself safe. Two days past, if anyone had told him Cersei wanted him dead, Jaime would have laughed it off. Cersei loved him, or so he thought. Now, he wasn't so sure. The thought of it made his eyes sting with tears, which he held back. Then he became extremely angry. He furiously kicked at the nearby bin. “FUCK!” he yelled. He sighed as he looked out the window into the large gardens of the Baratheon manor. Then he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder.

He turned around slowly. There stood Cersei, holding a small knife, dripping blood. He stumbled backwards. “Cersei” he mumbled, in shock.   
“You want to kill him! You want to kill Joffrey!” she screamed. Her eyes were red with anger. She really was going insane. Jaime had no idea what to do. He should probably draw a gun on her, to defend himself, but he couldn't. He loved her, and all he could do was stand there, in shock and horror.  
“Calm the fuck down!” he said, stuttering slightly, but calm down she did not. In fact, she seemed to get all the more angry as she lunged at him again, knife in hand. Just in time, he lifted his hand, the hand that had recently been shot, to defend himself. The blade plunged through the cast, through the flesh of his hand, and out the other side.

The next few moments were a blur to him. He was oblivious to the pain in his hand as he grasped Cersei by the wrist. He bit her hand roughly, causing her to yelp in pain and drop the knife, which he took with his good hand. He was not planning to hurt her, but in the heat of the moment, the pain, the anger, the heartbreak, and his primal urge to defend himself kicked in, and he drove the knife into her neck. 

Her blood ran over his hand. She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes as blood poured from her mouth and neck. He fell to his knees. I've murdered her, he thought to himself, as he numbly scooped her into his arms. Tears poured down his face. He'd killed her. Cersei. The one person he'd ever loved, and he'd murdered her. A part of him screamed that it was not murder, that she'd have killed him if he hadn't killed her, but he ignored that part. “No..” he muttered to himself. “No, no, no” he screamed, looking at her lifeless and pale body. 

He stumbled through the hallways, vomiting violently halfway through. He shoved himself through the front door, into the early morning light, and climbed into his car. He tore his shirt to rags and bandaged the two wounds, the one in his hand and the one in his shoulder. Then he drove. To where, he didn't know. Thankfully, there were no cars on the road; his vision was blurred with tears, his judgement clouded by pain. Eventually, he stopped driving at a bridge crossing a highway. He looked at his wounded hand and shoulder; at the least, his rough bandaging had stopped too much blood loss, but he supposed it did not matter. He had nothing left. He was going to jump into the motorway. 

He'd murdered the woman he loved, and even if he wanted to live, the Mafia would be after him. He entertained the thought of going to Lannisport and joining Tyrion, but he decided against it. He felt awful; he'd killed plenty before, but no-one he'd loved as dearly as his sister. Without her, his life had no more purpose. He stepped out of his car, and walked slowly towards the railing of the bridge. It was then that his phone rang. He looked to see who was calling. Tyrion. He decided to answer. If he was going to throw himself off a bridge, he supposed he ought to have one last conversation with his brother. He held the phone to his ear. “Tyrion?”. His voice was a croak; partly from the blood he'd lost, mostly from the grief. 

“This isn't the dwarf. This is Jon Umber, Lannister. Remember me? Your fucker of a boss sent the red-headed Marbrand prick after me. He KILLED my son. But the Marbrand bastard is dead, and I have your brother.”  
Jaime gasped into the phone. “No, you can't, he's safe, he's-”  
“He's with me” snarled Umber through the phone. “As is his mate Bronn. I ought to kill them both, but Robb won't allow it. He wants his cousin back. Snow. Bring me Snow, and I'll give you your little brother and his pet rat.”  
This was too awful to be true. “How do I know you have Tyrion?” asked Jaime, his voice numb.

It was then that Jaime heard his brother's voice on the phone. “Ah, Jaime. It seems I'm in a bit of a pickle!”.  
“What happened?” Jaime asked frantically. “Why aren't you in Lannisport!”  
“Me and Bronn were making our way to the car. It seems our big friend Umber had different plans for us. I don't suppose Cersei or Joffrey are going to hand over Snow, are they?”.  
The mention of Cersei's name sent another pang of pain and guilt through Jaime's chest.   
“No. No, they're not.” Jaime sighed.  
“Oh, just wonderful. Well, weep for us” chuckled Tyrion sarcastically. Jaime looked down over the railings of the bridge.   
“I won't weep for you” said Jaime, as he leaned further over the bridge. “I won't weep for you, because you're not going to die. Joffrey won't hand over Snow” he muttered. “But I will.” At that, he hung up the phone. He took one last look over the railing before stepping back and turning towards his car. 

++++++++++ 

Brienne groaned as her eyelids fluttered open. She took in a deep breath as she looked around her surroundings. Her hands were tied behind her back, and behind the backrest of the small, wooden chair she'd been seated on. She had been stripped to her underwear, and her legs were bound as well. The room was a large, cavernous warehouse, dimly lit by a bright overhead light. About two meters from her, tied to another chair and also stripped to his underwear, there was a teenager, who couldn't have been more than seventeen; slender and with curled black hair and grey eyes. He was bruised and beaten, and his slightly parted lips revealed that he was missing at least one of his teeth. Next to him was an older man, still tied to the chair he was slumped in, though there was a cut across his throat. A dead man, then.

“Where are we?!” she asked, in a panicked voice.   
He let out a loud groan as he turned to face her. “Bolton” he croaked. “Ramsay. My brother.”  
She gasped. If this Ramsay had been cruel enough to do this to his own BROTHER, what would he do to her?  
“Ramsay?” she asked, shuddering slightly.   
The boy's eyes glinted with what might have been tears. “My half-brother. He tortures. For the Lannisters”.  
“Why are you here?” she asked, eyes wide with fear.  
“My cousin's a Stark” he responded, looking at his feet. He looked back to her. “What's your name?” he asked. “And why are you here?”

“I'm... my name is Brienne” she muttered. “I- I was in the police. An intern. They- they”. Tears stung at her eyes as she remembered the way Stannis fell.  
The boy nodded slowly. “I'm Jon. I'd say I'm pleased to meet you, but due to the circumstances, I really wish you weren't here” he sighed.  
Brienne chewed her lip as she thought of the situation. When Ramsay came, she'd be raped, killed or worse. She needed a way out. She'd save this poor Jon, too, if she could escape. He might be connected to the Mafia, but not even those criminal scum deserved this. 

Brienne looked around the rest of the warehouse. There were a couple of men, armed guards, apparently to stop any form of rescue. Through a small side door, she noticed a short-is, skinny man with combed-back, black hair, come into the warehouse, and slowly stroll towards her. He was walking with a cane and a slight limp, for some reason. 

The older man stood in front of her, gazing at her with his cold, pale eyes, the kind of eyes that could stare through someone's soul. “You are Brienne Tarth, yes?” he asked calmly. “Assistant to detective inspector Stannis Baratheon?”.  
“I WAS assistant to him. Until you bastards murdered him” she muttered. When she saw those pale, pale eyes again, she immediately regretted the little act of defiance. But the man did nothing, only exhaled a slow breath.

“You're lucky my nephew is not here today” he said, keeping his calm tone. Somehow, the calmness scared her more than anger would have. “Tomorrow, you won't be so lucky. The only reason we haven't started the torture yet is because he prefers to do things himself. When he learned that you were a girl, he DEMANDED that we do not touch you until he gets there first. He likes torturing anyone and everyone, but women in particular” shrugged the terrifying, ghostly pale stranger. “By the time he gets here, I hope you can learn a lesson in holding your tongue. He will expect to know who within the gang is leaking our secrets to you and Stannis.”

“I was just an intern!” Brienne pleaded. “If we had any moles in your organisation, I didn't know of them, I swear it!”. Brienne meant what she said; she was many things, but not a liar.  
“I believe you” said the older man, as he turned away and began to make for the exit. “But Ramsay won't, I'm afraid. You should probably start thinking of an answer when he begins the interrogation tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at AU for this fandom- and my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. Please, give feedback- positive or negative, it all helps! If you've reached this point, I thank you for taking your time in reading this fic.


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